


Canticle

by Pink_Dalek



Series: Drive [3]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 18:48:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Dalek/pseuds/Pink_Dalek





	Canticle

August announced its arrival with a brutal heatwave. The water cooler near the CID office became an oasis, and fans hummed constantly in a vain attempt to cool the rabbit warren of stuffy rooms. Morse’s basement flat was better, although he’d finally set off on a desperate foray in search of a fan. He was leaving off his suit jacket as much as possible, and how Strange could still be wearing a jumper vest was a mystery. Or possibly a sign of insanity.

Joan was busy at Paisley Dreams. “They’re filming a music special at one of the colleges. Mimi, The Wildwood— I’d give my eyeteeth to watch.” She could tell Morse had no idea what she was talking about. Morse had taken her for ice cream. He was working his way through a strawberry cone, while Joan had opted for mint chocolate chip. “Anyway, someone from costuming was in Oxford with the location scouts, saw the shop, and fell in love with the raincoats we’d just got in. They remind me of boiled sweets, and have matching umbrellas. I had my eye on a red one, but I’m out of luck now. The costumer bought up our entire stock.”

Morse remembered it a few days later when, called in for a report of drugs found at Barton College, he opened an innocent-looking door onto the quad only to be shouted at for interrupting filming. He took in bright colors, large stylized flowers, and an array of rainbow-clad girls in the confused moment before Trewlove joined him.

On his way out, he asked what would be done with the raincoats and brollies after the shoot, leaving his card with the costume supervisor. “My friend had her eye on one of the red ones. She works at the shop that carried them.”

“I’ll ring you when the shoot’s finished. They’ll probably just gather dust in a warehouse otherwise.”

Over the next several days his workdays were divided between the death of a bricklayer at the estate where The Wildwood were spending the summer, and a threatening letter received by moral crusader Joy Pettybon, in town with a vicar and her mousy daughter Bettina.

When Bettina asked him to stay for a drink one evening, part of him knew he shouldn’t. But she was so lonely, awkward, and utterly cowed by her mother, that his heart went out to her.

“I’m keeping you from someone, aren’t I? Your wife, your fiancée?”

He knew she was fishing. It wasn’t like he was looking for anything. His heart was set on Joan, although they weren’t exactly dating. They were both busy, him with CID, and her with being Margot Simm’s de facto assistant manager. He’d taken her out for dinner or to a film a few times, she’d brought him fish and chips for lunch here and there, they’d browsed record stores together, but it was all very deliberately casual on his part, afraid of coming on too strong and scaring her off. And while he wasn’t afraid of Fred, he wanted to be respectful.

And he was perfectly capable of having a couple of drinks and conversation with a woman without overstepping bounds. Bettina reminded him a bit of Joyce, although his sister would never be so browbeaten, despite being raised by Gwen. Joyce had a stubborn streak much like his own.

The next morning he found himself taken off the case. He might be capable of an innocent drink, but Joy Pettybon had found out and assumed the worst. He couldn’t help griping to Joan when she came to the station to catch a ride home that evening, while they waited for her dad to finish going over cases with Strange in his office.

“It says more about her than it does you,” she answered tartly. “She may act all holier-than-though, but I’ll bet she was fast back in her day. At school it was always the churchy girls who had a well-deserved reputation.”

He had to admit that Joan had a knack for making him feel better in her down-to-earth way.

 

Margot Simms answered the phone. “Paisley Dreams. How may I help you?”

“Mrs. Simms, this is Fred Thursday. I need to speak to Joan.”

Something in his tone made her heart turn over. “Just a moment.”

As Joan listened, her face first grew grim, then pale. “I’ll be right there. Jenner Ward, you said?” She hung up, turning to Margot. “It’s— it’s Morse. He’s been injured on a case. He’s in Cowley hospital.” She was trying not to cry.

“Go on with you! Hurry!” Margot practically shooed her from the shop.

Joan hurried through the streets, dodging traffic and pedestrians, heart racing and dread knotting her stomach. Morse had been poisoned and was hallucinating. Another man, similarly poisoned, hadn’t recovered.

She found her father sitting at Morse’s bedside. The nearby window had its shade drawn and curtains had been pulled mostly-closed around the bed. Morse was wan and feverish, sweating and mumbling as he thrashed in the bed. Joan immediately took one of his hands in hers, smoothing back his fringe with the other. “I’m here, Morse. I’m here, and you’re going to be all right.”

Glazed blue eyes opened and struggled to focus on her. “Joan?”

“I’m right here, and so’s Dad.” His eyes closed, and she looked over her shoulder at Fred. “Tell me what happened.”

The next few days seemed endless. The herbal mixture Emma Carr had dosed Morse with made him feverish, even more miserable in the heat. Joan did her best to keep him comfortable with cool compresses. He relived horrible memories: Rosalind Stromming dying despite his efforts, Mason Gull’s victims, his own shooting at Millicent Coke-Norris’ hand. Worst of all was when he relived her dad’s shooting out at Blenheim Vale. Then there was his solitary confinement at Farnleigh.

At one point he cried out for his mother and Joan’s heart broke all over again for him, her tears mingling with his as she kissed his face.

Thursday was helping her look after him, his own eyes haunted when they met hers. Margot had told her to take all the time she needed. Strange spent time at the hospital to give them a chance to rest, and one time Joan woke from a nap in the bedside chair to see Bright on the other side of the bed, feeding Morse ice chips while Morse gazed blearily at him and mumbled something about a tiger.

 

Morse woke slowly, aware that he had a pounding headache and wasn’t in his own bed.Rolling over, he realized that he was in a hospital ward, and that Fred was sitting in the bedside chair. “What day is it?” He rasped.

“Corned beef.”

It took a moment, but— “Friday. It’s Friday.” He didn’t notice the look of relief that crossed the other man’s face. He immediately asked about the status of the case, and if Emma Carr had confessed.

Joan had stepped away to get a cup of tea, returning to find him awake. “Morse!”

“He’s all right, pet,” Thursday reassured her.

Joan took his hands and kissed his forehead. “You had us all so worried.”

“M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Morse had just arrived home from the hospital when his phone rang. It was the costume supervisor. “A few of the girls kept their raincoats, but I held back a red set, along with a blue one for that WPC who was with you. She was admiring them, and the blue would be gorgeous with her coloring. You wouldn’t happen to know how I could get in touch with her, would you?”

“Constable Trewlove works at Cowley station with me.”

He ended up with two raincoats and their matching umbrellas in his flat. He took the blue set to Shirley when he started back to work. “With the costume supervisor’s compliments.”

Shirley’s eyes lit up in girlish glee. “It will be so cheery on grey days when I’m off duty.”

He gave the red set to Joan the following morning. “Morse! How did you manage it?”

A shrug. “I stopped by the set and asked.”

Joan kissed his cheek and went to the front window. “Feel free to rain anytime you want,” she told the sky.

The heatwave broke that night with a thunderstorm, and it was still raining the next morning. Morse gave her a mock-cautious look when he arrived to pick up Fred. “I had no idea you had power over the weather. Any other witchcraft I should be aware of?”

Joan giggled. “Sam didn’t join the army. He’s a frog living in our back garden.”

 


End file.
